Like a Bird in Flight
by somedayangeline
Summary: Now that Panem is finally at peace, Katniss remembers Prim.
1. Chapter 1

The primroses Peeta planted last year are blooming again, their yellow making a splash against the emerging green of spring. Their petals, deceptively delicate, wave in the wind, but somehow always manage to retain their shape, until it's time for them to fly away.

I trace an outline on the petals, then run my fingers through the new dirt, letting it fall to the ground. It's private here, helping me relax and take in the newly emerging world. So gray and dormant for months, now signs of spring are popping up everywhere. and the Seam is once again becoming a lively place. If I tilt my head just right, I can even hear singing in the distance - from a person, not just the returning birds.

Now I can finally allow myself to remember.

The morning of that fateful Reaping, I woke to a cold bed because you had crept in to be with Mother. Only your cat was up when I rose and dressed for hunting, hissing good morning, his usual greeting to me (he's never forgotten that you were his savior who prevented one of his nine lives from being short). Then I went downstairs and found a far more pleasant gift: a cheese from your goat wrapped in basil leaves. When I met up with Gale, he'd brought bread, and with the berries that ripened at this time of year, we had a feast. Of sorts. Or a last supper, but we wouldn't know it for a few more hours.

Over bread topped with cheese and berries, we discussed running away. Half-seriously, on my part, but we couldn't possibly leave our families behind. The thought of what would happen if we did was a brake, jerking us back to reality. So, after a dry suggestion to "wear something pretty," Gale and I parted, and I returned home. I wore a dress Mother chose, and you wore an outfit I had at my first Reaping. Perhaps, though I'm not the superstitious type, the thought crossed my mind that it would bring you luck. And that combined with the fact that your name was entered only once, the odds really **were** in your favor.

However, that day, they weren't.

I'd protected you from being put in the community home, after Father died. I'd kept you and Mother from starving (thanks to a generous gesture on Peeta's part, which gave me the strength to keep going). And not permitted you, under any circumstances, to take out tesserae. Math has never been my subject, but I was sure that having only one name in that glass ball was as close as you could get to being immune.

But I couldn't protect you from the moment when Effie Trinket dipped her talons in that glass ball and read out your name.

So I did the only thing I could. You wouldn't have lasted five minutes in the Hunger Games arena. I, well possibly, a few days if luck was with me. Glory, no, Effie, I didn't do it for that. Maybe that was what propelled the Careers, trained from toddlerhood in the ways of winning. Not for us in District 12, whose priorities are simple: adequate food, clothes and lodging. But I promised to win if I could, then I was sitting on the train, heading for my new destination.

Before I left, however, I did one more thing: warned Mother not to succumb to the grief that had wrapped around her like a noose after Father died. She promised, assured me that she now had the right remedies should that be necessary. But the memory of those dreadful days was still fresh then, the wound of her inability to care for us still raw. You'd already forgiven her, but I hadn't. Forgiveness seemed too close to forgetting, and that felt like a luxury I couldn't afford. Not if I wanted to hold our family together. Strength was what was needed most.

The truth was I believed I'd never see you again. I figured I'd be coming home in a wooden box, if lucky, not too disfigured, still recognizable as the Katniss you knew. But with bloodthirsty Careers, natural hardship, and high tech horrors cooked up by the Gamesmakers, that didn't seem likely.

My single advantage (I thought) was knowing how to hunt. Perhaps my skill with a bow and arrow (provided there was one there for me to use, in the first place). Another, I discovered, was that I knew hunger, was familiar with the gnawing sensation, which came in handy when supplies ran low in the arena. A third, though it took me a long time to realize it, was that Peeta truly cared for me - that it wasn't just an act to play up to the Capitol audience and snare sponsors. Charm comes naturally to some people, but not me (hence Haymitch's comparison to a dead slug). But it was in that arena that I finally learned that being on the receiving end of kindness takes strength, too.

I'm sure, had you gone to the Games, Peeta would have formed an alliance with you, and your skill with medicinal plants would have had its place in your survival. Had I paid as close attention to Mother's remedies as you, Peeta might not have even lost his leg. But it doesn't do any good to dwell on what-ifs.

Against the odds, Peeta and I both survived, though we didn't know at the moment we held the nightlock berries to our lips that we had set in motion something much bigger than the Games and ourselves.

When I woke up, my troubles were just beginning, but I wouldn't realize to what extent until later. For now, I was mostly glad that we had both been spared. And I was ready, at long last, to return home.


	2. Chapter 2

When I returned from the Hunger Games, Peeta and I dual victors, you had changed. You'd been my little sister for so long, and then suddenly, you weren't. Of course, you were still my sister, but you had grown up. No longer were you the same girl who joined the throng of twelve-year-olds in the Reaping, her blouse coming untucked from her skirt - like a little duck. You had been selected in a lottery with a fate that was almost certainly death - and now your sister, who you had watched take your place was coming home - her Game wounds healed by Capitol high tech wizardry, but her internal scars still fresh. Now you were becoming a skilled healer, following in Mother's footsteps, but your remedies couldn't quite soothe the memories that reared their heads at the worst times nor the nightmares that so often made a thorough night's sleep an impossibility.

But I was still glad to see you. We moved into an absurdly large house in the Victor's Village with Mother, though Haymitch was no one's idea of a congenial neighbor. Buttercup came, too, though he seemed ill at ease in such luxurious accommodations, still seemed to prefer hunting field mice to curling up on the hearth. I knew how he felt. Though I was supposed to be developing a "talent," with which to occupy my ample leisure time, I found myself regularly heading for the woods to hunt, even though we no longer needed fresh game to survive. Still, Gale's family depended on me, and it was a way to thank the Hawthornes for helping you and Mother while I was away.

At first, there were things I kept from you, falling back into old habits, believing that you were still vulnerable, ill-prepared to face the very real consequences for my "stunt" with the nightlock berries in the arena. Our esteemed president, as you know, was far from happy that both Peeta and I survived. In that simple gesture that took less than five minutes, we managed to make fools of Snow and his Hunger Games. When I woke up, after it was over, my body had been buffed and polished to a high sheen, but the injury I had done Snow could not be as easily covered up. Now, it was crucial to pretend that Peeta and I were star-crossed lovers. Anything less than a stellar performance, and my loved ones might well suffer. Snow and his Gamesmakers could stand a lot - except the knowledge that they had been outsmarted.

Of course, you had suffered more than anyone should already, but it took me awhile to properly realize that. What had happened at the Reaping and in the arena was horrifying, but had the earlier chapters of our life after Father's death been any less grim? Having been in the Capitol, I now knew firsthand the contrast between the pampered citizens there and the people who struggled here in District 12. In trying to put my victory in the Games in perspective, I'd temporarily forgotten that our lives were hardly danger-free before either of us ever attended a Reaping.

What did I know about being the mouthpiece, the symbol of a revolution? Nothing. But President Snow now saw me as dangerous - like fire, something that could easily flare up at the slightest spark, spread and cause destruction over a great deal of Panem. That was why he visited me at home - what I told Mother was a lie, which I imagine you saw through from the start. The odor of blood and roses lingered as we talked, even though the tea and cookies Mother had served had made an effort to fill the room with a homely aroma. Did he threaten me directly? Not quite, but it was clear afterwards that Gale was now in danger, and others I loved might well suffer, too. Should I step out of line, that is.

If I was fire, Snow was water, or at least he was doing his best to quench the flames of rebellion already being fanned in other Districts. Because of our physical isolation, it took me awhile to piece together what was going on elsewhere. But the signs that a harsher regime was being imposed were already plain where we lived. Other districts, I learned during the Games, had harsher rules and regulations already, as difficult as that may be to picture, but now, the chains were closing in on us, too. Infractions that would have been ignored were now punishable, which Gale found out the day he was whipped by a new Peacekeeper. Which was also the day that I truly realized how skilled you had become at healing.

How I admired your courage and your calm head, as you and Mother prepared the remedy Gale would need for his back to heal. When it comes to helping people in pain, especially those I love, I'm next to useless. My first reaction: to scream at you both to do more, faster, was hardly going to help, so after an application of snow on my own minor wound, I left. But you stayed, and thanks to your dedication, I believe his pain was lessened. And the snowmelt - that was even sweeter balm. How glad I was that it was not the summer - as Mother told me, that would mean flies to shoo away. Madge's medicine was a huge help, too, but you and Mother did the lion's share of healing Gale - and the other hapless souls of District 12 who found themselves on the wrong side of the "law."

My own personal encounter with the new rules came when I attempted to return from hunting, only to discover that the fence had been electrified. My injury returning was not pleasant but bearable, and I managed to bring a few items, including a bag of peppermints, to match my cover story: I'd been to see the Goat Man about getting Lady pregnant. You (and Haymitch, Peeta and Mother) played your impromptu roles flawlessly, convincing our guests that nothing but amiable bickering would be found here. But our relief would be short-lived, for the Quarter Quell Reaping loomed large.

While you were schooled in the lessons of coal by-products, and my prep team prepared several wedding gowns for my upcoming nuptials to Peeta, Snow and the Gamesmakers put their heads together and hatched an even more sinister plan than I'd expected. Since there was no living female tributes to even consider taking my place should my name be drawn, I knew I had no choice: that I was soon to have another hearty helping of Hunger Game horrors.

As Peeta and I trained for the Quell, we had no idea what larger forces were at work. Perhaps a more astute person than me would have picked up on the hints I was given, such as Plutarch Heavensbee pointedly pulling out his watch as we danced - attempting to tell me how the arena would be shaped. I muffed that one, among others. But I did realize early on the importance of allies in the arena, even if I was still unskilled at securing them. As it turned out, a group of Tributes had planned beforehand to make sure I made it out alive. So the Mockingjay eventually came to be in on the full plan, but not until she would wake up from the rescue would it be all explained.

I told you about my first Games ally: Rue from District 11, how much she reminded me of you. Not just her outward fragility but her inner strength. Like you, she was a natural healer who had an eye (and an ear) for the beauty in an otherwise grim world. When she died, I realized afresh just how senseless the Games are. Wreathing her in flowers, and later thanking her family publicly on the Victory Tour were small gestures but all I could do at the time.

It was too late for Rue, but as I realized after I returned home from the first Games, not too late for the younger generation. Gale's siblings still had a chance to inherit a world less barbaric and more democratic, a Panem where the chasm between the haves and the have-nots would not yawn so wide. A place where the yearly death of children was not considered necessary to keep its citizens docile and cowed.

Nor too late for you, Prim. Or so I believed then.


	3. Chapter 3

You told me you were good at keeping secrets, Prim, and you were, of course. Even from Mother. Looking back, I think we all misjudged her. We assumed she wasn't strong enough to handle the truth about what I was up to, when the truth was that she was never even given a chance, until it was too late.

But we needed people like her - and you, as much as we needed a spokesperson, a figurehead, a symbol of the Rebellion. That was me, as much as I sometimes stumbled in the role. We needed leaders, but we needed healers every bit as much.

Which was why I was so glad to hear that they were training you to be a doctor once we took sanctuary in District 13 (not that either of us had much choice). I felt a pang of surprise at first, but that was all due to my self-absorption at the time, not lack of faith in your skill or disbelief that you wouldn't be more than able for the job. Yes, you would be perfect, and even though we'd lost the freedom to wander freely outdoors in our new abode, we had traded it for the chance to build a better future - one in which all children would have an equal chance to develop their gifts.

While I wandered around dazed in the bunker, you were actively helping our side. But Crazy Cat, that was me. Snow and Coin taking turns wiggling the flashlight for me - for all their followers - to chase. Forcing us to play yet another game with high casualties, but hopefully, this time, our victory would be permanent.

Still, your faith in me burned inside me - like a match in the dark. Fire ignites, illuminates, blazes, but sometimes all that is needed to warm someone, keep them going in the face of adversity is a single spark. And that was you.

After I returned from the first Hunger Games, now a reluctant symbol of a revolution I only partly understood at the time, I told myself that though Rue had perished, it was still not too late for you. (Or Posy or Vick or...)

But it was.

In the last glimpse I had of you before you died, you were kneeling over an injured child, your face intent with concentration on relieving her pain as best you could. Your shirt had come untucked, as it had the day of the first Reaping. How far we had traveled, how much we had both grown since then.

After I triggered the force field in the Quarter Quell, I saw a star. Electrified in a more literal way, I fell backwards into darkness, and was promptly spirited to safety. Later on, their "Mockingjay" would rail at the injustice of her having to play a role in the revolution while being kept ignorant. That and the knowledge that District 12 was no more was enough to keep me stunned for a long time.

This time, I was on fire, after it was extinguished, I floated on a sea of foam, those I loved around me flying like birds above. I didn't want to return to the pain of reality, but I finally did. After I (hallucinating) begged you to "let go," I did the same and came back to earth, where I learned of your death and had to let go of my beautiful, amazing sister.

That explosion which took out so many children, not just you, helped realize that it was Peeta who I wanted in my life for good. Gale and I may have wanted the same future, but we had decidedly different ideas about how to go about it.

Right now, I am sitting in a chair on the terrace of the house Peeta and I share. It's spring now, and the primroses are in bloom. Peeta planted them for you in remembrance. They are beautiful, how I wish you could see them.

He's helping me heal, just as I am helping him, and you will be pleased to know that we are finally together at last. We do much the same things we did before all this begun: I hunt, and he bakes - and paints, too, stunning pictures of those he loves - and loved, you among them.

Yes, Gale survived, and he is well and busy with a job, and I assume, eventually a family of his own. All the Hawthornes are thriving, but I realized after your death that Gale could not be the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

Mother is well and busy, too. She has a job managing an apothecary shop in a District which is not so reminiscent of good old District 12. She is still single, though, I think there may be someone in particular who hopes very much that that will change. But so far, she remains faithful to Father's memory. Now that is there is peace, I can finally bring myself to forgive her for her descent into despair after Father died. Perhaps it is still seared in my memory somewhere, but at present, I can be with her and see her for who she really is: a strong woman who has had to watch her child risk her life repeatedly, only to return her, scarred even more each time. A mother who has had to mourn the death of her younger daughter, so much like her, but whose life was snuffed out far too soon.

A survivor.

Buttercup is still with us, too. That ugly, unruly cat who I tried to drown so long ago still exists, still hisses at me occasionally, but we have reached a truce. He even occasionally sleeps nearby in the evenings when Peeta and I enjoy a quiet moment to ourselves. He's mellowed somewhat in his old age, but there's still plenty of spunk and spirit in him. He doesn't confide in me what he does in his free time, but I suspect he's become a father several times over - there seem to be a number of unsightly orange cats roaming around lately.

As for us, Peeta isn't sure about having children yet, but I hope we can eventually. I hope we can have a daughter - or a son - who we can raise in a peaceful Panem, who we will eventually have to tell about its sordid history, but who will inherit a much safer, brighter world, thanks to you, and so many others who fought tirelessly in their own ways for peace - and justice.

Justice is a funny word. At first, I was hungry for revenge, and sore from your recent death, I joined the side of those Victors who wished to hold one more Hunger Games - using Capitol children. (Peeta opposed us.) But eventually, I realized that wasn't the right way, and that you would have sided with Peeta. More deaths of innocents would accomplish nothing, simply create more festering resentment, the last thing that would aid this world in its healing.

Prim, you were far more than a pawn in the Capitol's games, more than the "little duck" I had to protect. You were a beacon in the darkness and a true inspiration. I will be sure to tell my children, when they are old enough, of how much you meant to me. I hope they will inherit your compassion, if not your specific skill with the ailing, because the world will be a better place for it.

And you will always be my sister, in my heart and in my memory. Always.

You inherited the best in all of us: Father, Mother and I, as well as something unique: the ability to look into the confusing mess of life and see things are they truly are. I never had that gift, but each day, I try to do the same: acknowledge that pain is a part of life, but so too, is joy, and love, which I have finally found.

Farewell, Prim. May you have found peace, although too soon, and know that Panem is also at peace and because of you, a world where our children can live free is now possible. A world where children must fight to the death is now the past, relegated to history books. Perhaps such a dark time will return, but for now, know that your sacrifice and your contributions have helped make this a world that Peeta and I - and the rest - is worth living in.

Farewell.


End file.
